The mild bunch GETTING THERE
Jonathan Agnew hits the trail with a band of hard-bitten Argentine cowboys – only to find he’s joined...
ATRIP to Argentina had never crossed my mind before. The closest the cricket circuit takes us is Guyana, on the north-eastern shoulder of the South American continent, where I have spent many more hours watching rain fall than actually describing play for listeners of Test Match Special. Consequently, it needed more than the guarantee of a vast steak and a bottle of smooth Malbec to lure me on to a 13-hour flight to Buenos Aires.
The game-changer was the invitation to commentate on equestrianism – dressage and the like – for BBC radio at the Rio Olympics next year. I responded positively, I thought, by taking riding lessons, but my confidence was dented badly last year when I was thrown from a horse that had gone berserk.
Clearly, in order to connect properly with my new sport I had to give riding another go. Meanwhile, my wife Emma competes at a good level, celebrated a ‘special’ birthday during the summer, and has always wanted to go on a riding holiday. This all helps explain why our trip to Argentina came about, and why, soon after arriving in the capital, we found ourselves at the polo fields of Estancia Puesto Viejo. It was here that I got back in the saddle and sat tentatively on a horse – the perfect icebreaker for what lay ahead.
Heavy overnight rain closed a number of roadss and extended our drive to Estancia Santa Maria the next morning to four hours – more than enough time to appreciate how remarkably flat the Pampas landscape is.
The accommodation at Santa Maria is welcom-welcoming, comfortable and isolated. We were the only visitors, and Sylvia’s excellent cooking was served in front of a permanently smouldering log fire.
Sylvia’s husband Mario is head gaucho, and through a combination of sign language and a useful iPhone app called Translator, we managed to convey the message that we wanted to ride into the nearest town for a beer. Shortly afterwards, two gauchos and two tourists on horseback, a free-running foal, and several dogs entered the apparently abandoned town of Almada. We encountered plenty of horses, chickens, ducks, pigs and dogs, but not another soul. Casually picking our way along the dirt tracks riding onehanded, Westernstyle, this felt like the moment in every cowboy film when the baddies ride into town: definitely a holiday highlight. After tethering the horses to a post outside the bar, all that was missing were the salon doors to barge through. Actually, it was more of a general store-cum-watering hole, and my image of the hard-living gaucho took a knock when our companions watered down their beers with cola.
The reopened roads cut an hour from our drive back to Buenos Aires for the flight north to the Iguacu Falls, which sit on the border between Argentina and Brazil. We had been advised to stay at the Belmond Hotel das Cataratas on the Brazilian side, and following the seamless transition from Argentina it was immediately clear why. The Hotel das Cataratas is the only hotel in the Iguacu National Park. As soon as you step from the taxi, the deep rumble of the Falls strikes you. We could even gaze at it from our bed.
The Hotel das Cataratas is lovely in its own right, with abundant, colourful birdlife including a nestrifling toucan, but key to staying here is access outside public hours. The Iguacu Falls is yours to enjoy at your own pace before the masses arrive at 9am and leave at 5pm. Nearly two miles wide and with a drop of 270ft, the power and majesty of this waterfall is beyond words. Sunsets are awesome, and the gentle rumble forms the perfect accompaniment to dinner on the hotel terrace.
I had not tried piranha broth before. Served with scallops, shrimp and puff pastry, it was delicious.
A ten-minute helicopter ride gives a unique perspective of the scale of the Falls, and the Macuco speedboat dash into the maelstrom earns you a thorough soaking. We did the whole lot in a day and a couple of nights.
And so to the main event: four days and nights at Estancia Los Potreros, located in the hills above Cordoba, 400 miles north-west of Buenos Aires. This 6,500-acre cattle ranch is rated one of the finest riding experiences of its type in South America, and I worried needlessly whether Emma’s and my own riding abilities being on such vastly different scales would provide a complication.
Kevin Begg and his wife Louisa own and run Los Potreros, lending their engaging personalities to the experience, as well as just the right measure of eccentricity that brings these kinds of places to life.
I rather craved Kevin’s bright red boina, or gaucho’s beret, but such things have to be earned. And my
newly purchased jodhpurs had to go. ‘Men ride in jeans,’ Kevin said firmly.
The support staff is made up mostly of young American and English women from riding backgrounds, all taking a breather from mainstream life. They were good all company, helpful and watchful on the rides, which always included a gaucho.
There were three other guests at Los Potreros during our stay, all of them travelling alone, and the horses are selected meticulously in terms of each rider’s ability.
Split into two small groups, we began on sure-footed criollos, riding through the vast, barren and rocky landscape that reminded me rather of the Peak District. On the first afternoon I even enjoyed my first gentle canter since my accident.
NEXT came the Peruvians, with their unique gait called the paso, which is something between a walk and a trot. Emma quickly mastered this, of course, and rode a more challenging horse on every outing. I teamed up with a palomino called Tango, who cantered on command and stopped whenever I asked him to. We herded cattle and rounded up the foals together, and on the final afternoon I was awarded my boina.
The electricity might flicker once or twice and ththe internet access is hardly supersonic, but there is much more than that to Los Potreros, which combines comfort, top-class food, wine and bonhomie wwith the chance to ride freely and safely, whateever your standard. One dry day in Buenos AAires was enough to bury mmy preconceptions of the city. Orderly, with broad streets and some beautiful aarchitecture, there is a vvery strong European influence here. La Boca was colourful and Museo Evita mmust be done, but had I kknown in advance about ththe so-called ‘blue’ tourist rrate of exchange, I would hhave taken either pounds or dollars in cash and saved a ridiculous 25 per cent when eating out in the fabulous restaurants around Palermo. Next time.
No stay in Buenos Aires is complete without a tango show – Gala Tango was energetic and fun. We were also served a white Malbec, which made for a pleasant change.
But I will remember this brilliant and varied fortnight not for tango, but for Tango. I am back on the horse.